


Judgement Call

by ClockworkSampi



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Gen, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8357434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkSampi/pseuds/ClockworkSampi
Summary: Hecatia’s in a panic. She’s off to the Congress of Hell for the weekend and she needs to find someone who can watch Clownpiece and quick.
Good thing she has people for this. Well, okay. Not for ‘this’, but she has people. Well, okay. Not ‘people’, but she has person. She has a person. A person that can’t say no to her because she’s the boss.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Touhou Project and all related trademarks are the property of Team Shanghai Alice. Please support the official products in every capacity.

Among the relatively small population that were not prisoners, the city of Dis was largely regarded as Hell’s second capital. It was easy to see why; with its bustling tourism centers, numerous restaurant franchises, lively theater culture (the comedies were simply _divine_ ), and, during the clear seasons, unspoiled view of the Torment Pit of the Forsaken Apollyon from the skyline, it was the pinnacle of Hell’s civilization.

 

It was lesser known as the home of the Ministry of Right and Wrong, separated from the rest of the government in the High Capital Pandemonium by necessity; the banks of Higan only extended so far inland.

 

The Ministry was experiencing the slow year at present, as the previous four had been unusually heavy on death. The universe’s sense of balance finally caught itself, albeit a tad too late for the workers’ taste. A lethal deficit condensed in the demand for reincarnation across every board. Judgements of the dead slowed to a crawl as defendants became rarer.

 

Of course, the bureaucrats in the Capital seized this opportunity to point out, as politicians do, with expertly-crafted incorrect facts that the Ministry did nothing for Hell beyond draining the already precarious economy and should be shut down post haste. Of course, no one at the Ministry was actually worried. Cut the budget all they please, folks weren’t going to die any less. Congress was just in one of its Moods. Just give it a two years or so, and they’ll be singing the Ministry’s praises again.

 

In fact, only a decade ago a bill was passed that gave funding to the Ministry to improve the building, and that elevator management’s been wanting for forever finally got installed. That raised spirits around the Ministry alright.

 

Nevertheless, Her Honor, Lady Eiki Shiki, the Yamaxanadu, was left in a state of hebetude to toil herself in.

 

The Court of the Yamaxanadu was not projected to begin for at least fifty-four hours, to be held for _one_ soul, then be once again be put in abeyance for, approximately, thirty-seven hours, until another _one_ soul demanded judgement. In theory, Eiki didn’t even have to be at her office today; she could be enjoying her day off in the shadows of Hell’s moon. That theory was correct. Eiki spent the morning fitfully getting ahead on paperwork because that was what she did for fun. Also, unlike the shinigami, who earned most of their paycheck via commissions on a soul-by-soul basis, yama were direct government employees, paid by the hour.

 

She was about to put her signature on a bill that would increase the number of Ksitigarbhas in her jurisdiction by twelve percent when her door was kicked open.

 

Through the ensuing paper flurry, a cheerful voice boomed, “Eiki! Just the gal I was looking for!”

 

Eiki wearily tapped the bare desk space where her name should have been and said, “Need I remind you, Your Holiness, that while a festering cloaca of the worst turpitude sagacious humanity can proffer Hell may be, there is no reason it must be _untidy_.”

 

“Oh, can it with that punctilious horse shit. You call me Hecatia, alright? We’re friends, ain’t we?”

 

“Are we, Your Holiness?”

 

“And you can can it with your proper grammar, too. It’s a free language, I can do what I want with it.”

 

Into the previously pristine office glided Hecatia Lapialazuli, the all-powerful Goddess of Hell; her chained satellites auto-maneuvering through the doorway. Under Hecatia’s arm, she carried her head Lampad, the hell fairy and F.M.D. (Fairy of Mass Destruction) Clownpiece, as if she was some variety of star-spangled handegg.

 

A sigh did not escape Eiki as she did not ram her head into her desk. Yamaxanadu was not a position held by those who put exasperation where it didn’t belong. What she _did_ do was carefully place her ivory-handled pen in its ebony inkwell and folded her hands in front of her pressed uniform.

 

As far as rulers of Hell went, Hecatia wasn’t _bad_. Not the sort of bad that damaged Hell, at least. Though the goddess couldn’t balance the budget of a cardboard box, she was interested in the affairs of her people and genuinely cared about the environment. She had once great plans for a solar energy plant that no one talked about anymore unless they were suicidal. Hell was still feeling the economic backlash from its forced cancellation.

 

Before they met in proper, Eiki knew Hecatia only as the one responsible for the new Rods of Remorse which, yes, inarguably _did_ reduce the landfills, but never had the same feel when beating on sinners, and the one who, blessedly, refused to raise tariffs for the new souls’ ferries across the Higan, no matter how in the red Hell became.

 

And then Hecatia had wedged herself to Eiki’s line of acquaintances (since Eiki was truly honest, she couldn’t call it a circle; Komachi nattered for seven people, but she was still only one point). She was, more or less, as Eiki imagined: easily moved to passion, fiercely protective of her friends, stuck to her principles no matter what anyone said, spoke up for the little people, always strove to do the right thing. Millennia of sentencing this exact person to Hell had given Eiki a pretty good picture of what the Empress of the Kingdom Dolorous must have looked like. Although in fairness to the goddess’s spontaneity, Eiki didn’t think anyone could have anticipated Hecatia’s t-shirt menagerie.

 

It would seem that over the course of the siege of the Lunar Capital (of which lending aid was _not_ approved by the Congress of Hell) Hecatia had developed an interest in that one mystical plot of soil and sky within Eiki’s jurisdiction known to one and all as Gensokyo. The goddess had come to her with tons of questions about Gensokyo’s culture, its people, its laws, how on earth it even held together, and, most important, its spring fashion trends. As such, Eiki found herself spending a great deal of time doing the ‘hang-out,’ as the current slang called it, with Hecatia. This wasn’t unpleasant in and of itself, provided one didn’t factor in hanging out with Hecatia.

 

Eiki couldn’t simply tell the goddess of Hell to leave her be to spend both of their time on worthier endeavors; even to the eternal, time was still a commodity. Sometimes she had to bite her tongue to restrain herself, but Eiki’s place to lecture those above her, it was not. _Some_ people knew what ‘superior’ meant and _didn’t_ fall asleep in the middle of a vital discussion about workplace attentiveness.

 

Hecatia set Clownpiece on the Yamaxanadu’s desk.

 

“I need you to watch this for the weekend whilst I’m singin’ Chaos and Eternal Night to some splenetic asshats,” said Hecatia heartily.

 

The hell fairy glared at Eiki not the angriest glare she’d been on the receiving end of, but was certainly in the running for the grumpiest. Odd, that. Clownpiece smiled and giggled at everything, especially other people’s misery. Her extinguished torch was tucked between her crossed arms.

 

Eiki pulled a stray paper out of her crown, looked at the report she’d already read and became engrossed in it.

 

“Your Holiness, the Ministry extremely busy right now, as you can no doubt see for yourself. We cannot spare the resources to watch over your Lampads.” More a half-truth than a lie. Speaking with Hecatia _was_ an arduous task. Besides, almost lying to one’s boss wasn’t Wrong if it meant both parties could get on with their jobs and their lives. It just wasn’t fully Right. And Eiki prided herself on her neutrality. Paperwork needed doing. If nothing else, spending time with Clownpiece was _spending time with **Clownpiece**_.

 

By some sort of magic, Clownpiece _instantly_ grew sunny.

 

“Well, what a shame, master! Looks like you gotta take me, after all.”

 

“Hush, you,” said Hecatia quickly.

 

Then she leaned over the desk, eyes glowing red like a world of nightmares never seen before, planets aligned themselves at the goddess’s will and the full force of Hell stared down at the Yamaxanadu. Hecatia’s smile had yet to budge.

 

“You don’t seem to understand, _yama_. Your _goddess_ has given you an order. You _are_ going to look after her cute little Lampad while she is away. _Get it_?”

 

Eiki barely peered up. “You know as well as I that divine commandments require handwritten duplicate and two-thirds ratification in Congress.”

 

“It’s true, master.” Clownpiece nodded sagely. “I was there when you signed the _Heca Carta_. With you. I was there. In Pandemonium. Remember? I was _very_ well-behaved.”

 

There was a jangle of chain as Hecatia collapsed on the desk.

 

“Pl _ease_ , Eiki?”

 

This time, Eiki didn’t even need to look to know what the Hell goddess’s gambit was. Komachi tried the same thing at least once a week.

 

“A respectable attempt, Your Holiness. But I am Yamaxanadu, Supreme Judge of Paradise, condemner of demons and celestials alike. You will find me quite immune to puppy-dog eyes.”

 

Growling at her master plan’s failure, Hecatia floated back and crossed her legs, granting the illusion of sitting in midair.

 

“How ‘bout this: I’ll owe ya one,” she said. “Divine favor still counts for something, don’t it?”

 

“Why, yes. Everything counts. Everything. I’ve sentenced souls to Purgatory for less than bribery.”

 

Chains rattled agitatedly. “And I’ve evaporated yama for less than backtalk! Count yourself lucky your friends with the Hell goddess,” said Hecatia. “Speaking of, make me a friendly reminder to pull that Judgement Stick out of your ass one of these days.”

 

“Ah. Common misconception, Your Holiness. It is actually called a Rod of Remorse. But I shall write up a memo, regardless.”

 

“You heard the lady, master,” said Clownpiece triumphantly. “She can’t do it. No way. Not a chance. Too bad. Too. Bad.” She held her torch aloft, where it blazed to life in pink-yellow flame. “To Pandemonium, right, master?”

 

“For the last time, no!” Hecatia rested a fist on her hip. “You are not attending Congress until you’ve had your Can Be Around Others privileges reinstated, which you recklessly abused on Mare Tranquillitatis.”

 

Clownpiece stamped her foot. The wood of Eiki’s desk rattled.

 

“That’s not fair, master! That was a siege! I was helping you get your revenge!”

 

“By picking a fight with a human?”

 

“So did–”

 

“Yes, yes, so did I with the same human. _As a favor_. See the difference? I want to see Chang’e damned for all time as much as the next self-respecting citizen of Hell, and your drive to murder her is _too_ adorbs. Come on, though. Why would the Capital of purer-than-thou snoot asses have anything to do with an epitome of impurity?”

 

“You told me to annihilate anything that came to or out of the Lunar Capital!”

 

“Clownpiece, I love ya to bits. And I’ll tear anyone that hurts ya to bits. But you have got to learn to distinguish possible friend from possible foe.”

 

“But–”

 

“Don’t you but me, missy,” snapped Hecatia. “I brought your butt into this world from a Life Energy Distillation Array, and constructed your shape and consciousness in a Making Ritual and I can take you out! I _know_ you can put any kishin in the ground, okay? That’s not the point!”

 

Clownpiece opened her mouth, but Hecatia’s glare smote the words from her tongue like a divine reckoning, which it was.

 

“Answer me,” said Hecatia, “who was the one that made the Liver Eating Eagles vomit, _projectile_ vomit, uncontrollably by feeding them earth hamburgers?”

 

Clownpiece shrunk. “Me,” she said, her torch going out.

 

“Who slathered rubber cement over the boulders on the Hills of Eternal Boulder Pushing and Sliding Down Again?”

 

“Me…”

 

“Who practiced danmaku on the Flaming Wheels in The Stars?”

 

Even the balls on Clownpiece’s hat drooped.

 

“Me.”

 

“Who, on the way over here I might add, chastened a city block because a store didn’t have that top in her size?”

 

Clownpiece blinked. “You.”

 

“That’s right! Just the one block. Because _I_ have self-control. Understand?”

 

“Hm…was that what that firestorm was?” said Eiki.

 

Hecatia whirled around, as if shocked to find Eiki had been in her own office the whole time.

 

“Eiki! You’ve been in Congress. You tell her.”

 

Eiki tightened her jawline in the manner of a humorless woman roped into a sidewalk improvisational show. The acting here was exemplary, because Eiki was type cast. _Why_ did she _have_ to speak up?

 

“I don’t know, Your Holiness. A session of Congress could be just what she needs to prove herself. Often, the best method of amelioration lies in experience. Your Lampad certainly seems sorry enough,” said Eiki.

 

Hell’s Congress was representative of its population, which consisted primarily Hecatia at the top, the kishin and their oni, hell fairies, the high ranking shinigami, a few stray species mostly left from the migration out of the previous location, kasha and the like, and, lastly, the yama, the only ones expected to master the skill of identifying the end of the pen that was the write one.

 

Debates between this body were straightforward affairs. They had reasoned, with a reason so barbaric only the societal elite could have possibly imagined, that since all arguments were a matter of opinion anyway, that the only way to win one was to have an opinion _more than your opponent did_. This, in its purest form, entailed raising one’s voice to ear-splitting levels (a timeless tactic for this involved saying the same thing louder and louder), and then winning the brawl the Congress floor invariably became. Thus proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that your opinion was the correct one all along.

 

Traditionally, Hellishness is measured by one’s desire to harm. The purpose of this style of debate is to subjugate one’s opponents; in other words, reducing their fighting spirit. Ever since this philosophical bridge was established, this debate form has been colloquially referred to as Beating the Hell Out of One’s Opposition.

 

“Flattered though I am that you would come to me,” Eiki continued, pushing the paper to the side, neatly missing Hecatia’s eyes narrow, “there must be people better suited for this labor if you are still insistent. Even respecting the precedent of all three of your bodies be present for your votes to be considered valid, two others spring to mind immediately.”

 

“I am beginning to opine,” said Hecatia, “that you are being a belligerent little shit willfully, Yamaxanadu.”

 

“Whatever gave you that impression, Your Holiness?”

 

Hecatia huffed a lock of hair out her face.

 

“Hell has, like, six people that can stop Clownpiece from misbehaving ever since she was Purified. And I’m three of them. Not a lot of the sort of experience…y’know…” she waved her hand vaguely.

 

“Ah. My position as yama over Gensokyo affords me a certain degree of knowledge of how to appropriately handle personages of a troublesome disposition that have the power to back their threats, yes?”

 

Hecatia nodded. “Yeah. Super-powered nut cases. Look, I’ll level with you. This snuck up on me, I panicked a little bit and rushed over. And that’s a totes my bad. What with the lunar war and all, I didn’t have the time to check my inboxes until it was too late.”

 

“You check your inboxes?” said Eiki before she could stop herself.

 

“Well, Clownpiece does.” Hecatia shrugged at Eiki sheepishly. “And her being on the moon and all…”

 

“One could argue that you might have read the notices yourself?”

 

“ _Could_ , yeah, probably, I guess. But I’m an active goddess! When, I ask you, when can I fit in the reading of piles upon mountains paperwork I get on a daily basis if not right when I wake up for my three P.M. breakfast? If Clownpiece hadn’t come all the way to Dis from my palace and gotten me up waving these forty-seven letters to not forget the summit in Pandemonium today in my face, I wouldn’t need to ask you to watch her.” Heactia gave Eiki a big grin. “So what d’ya say? You watching her yet?”

 

“You were already in Dis? Why?” said Eiki, who noticed the details in testimony.

 

But right as Eiki said it, she already knew the answer. The sudden shadowy edge to Hecatia’s smile confirmed it.

 

Clownpiece put her head to one side at the yama and her master staring at each other. Beings not made out of pure life force could be weird sometimes, she had to remind herself.

 

“Master was staying with master’s friend,” prompted Clownpiece.

 

“ _Junko_ ,” said Eiki in a voice that, while quiet, was by no means small.

 

Hecatia drew herself up. The planets chained to her neck bridled.

 

“Eiki, I get you don’t like her.”

 

Indeed Eiki did not.

 

Though they were barely acquainted, Eiki knew all about the creature presently known only as Junko. Junko was the type the Ministry of Right and Wrong made sure they knew everything on. Eiki was grateful that Hecatia was a wise enough leader to keep ‘barely’ the closest relation Justice and Vengeance had.

 

“And that’s justifiable. I mean, the amount of work she would cause for you if she went on another rampage is astronomical.”

 

Oh, yes, indeed. Junko, the psychotic divine spirit with an unquenchable fury, flowing blonde hair, shattered smile and the blackest soul Eiki ever laid eyes upon. She met killers weekly, but it was a first for Eiki to look into the dead eyes of something and know, beyond a reasonable doubt, that this was a power that would not only kill her, but if there was slightest probability that it might inconvenience an immortal locked on the moon only somewhat, that power would vaporize her without a second thought.

 

“But she’s not going to perform any more genocides, alright? Not while I’m here for her.”

 

Junko was not merely insane. She went beyond raving lunacy. She silently raved. She wielded the immaculate brand of madness forged in the cold furnace of logic and tempered with the hammer of tranquility. There was no feeling hatred in Junko’s mind; she _knew_ hatred.

 

“And…y’know…she’s been really…y’know…down ever since our plan on the Lunar Capital failed. I can’t stand her looking like that! I just can’t, okay?”

 

Pity Eiki could only sentence the dead to the Pits of Hell. Junko would fit right in.

 

“So I thought to myself I thought, ‘Gee, Hecatia, all your attempts to cheer Junko up have burned in your face so far, haven’t they? So what’s left?’ And Clownpiece gave me the answer: get her out of the house.”

 

And she did fit in. She’d been living in Hecatia’s Dis penthouse for the past year. Occasionally, Eiki would see explosions from the building. No one in the city seemed to mind. In fact, they relished the excitement brought from knowledge that any one of the denizens could be obliterated at any moment. And did you see last Monday how she killed that guy with no provocation? What a card, that Junko!

 

“Do something together. Just the two of us. Sorry, Clownpiece, but god and her friend need alone time, sometime, y’know?”

 

The people of Hell showered Junko with affection for the wrong reasons.

 

Too often was it forgotten that Hell was a place of atonement; one of the only things Eiki and Hecatia agreed on.

 

Goddesses were, ultimately, the embodiment of a thing’s virtues. Hecatia had terrible taste in friends, but remained unsurpassed in realizing who needed to make peace with themselves.

 

The wardens ended up becoming so focused on the means that the means became the end. They lose sight of the fact that the stockades and flame jets and pools of brimstone were there for a _reason_.

 

That was the bureaucratic process for you.

 

Reincarnation waited always, even for the most inexorable of sinners. It always distressed Eiki how little amount ever attainted it like she had. Who would have thought a Ksitigarbha left at the side of a road in the middle of nowhere could become Yamaxanadu?

 

“And Eiki, well, I guess, heh, I don’t have to tell _you_ that massacre is her favorite pastime. A trip to Congress is the perfect distraction. Why are you smiling?”

 

All it took was a little faith and a nudge in the right direction.

 

“Am I? How embarrassing,” said Eiki, making no effort to hide her smirk.

 

“Master,” said Clownpiece tartly. Her eyes were covered by her hand, and head shaking. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to go on a date?”

 

“It’s not a date!” said Hecatia. “It’s two friends going to Congress to Beat the Hell out of some kishin because one is depressed her plan to destroy the moon’s Capital and the immortal goddess they have locked up there failed. Nothing unusual in the slightest!”

 

There it is, thought Eiki, her grin growing imperceptibly. That slight over-loudness all acolytes of the Law were too familiar with…

 

“Of course,” said Eiki. “Date or not, is _that_ what you were going to wear?” she went on, fully aware that ninety-six percent of her own wardrobe consisted of yama uniforms.

 

Hecatia looked down at today’s blasphemy against fashion. It was a vibrant cheese-left-a-week-too-long-in-the-refrigerator orange, upon which the enthusiastic yellow words, ‘I TOOK OVER MARS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS T-SHIRT’ had been transcribed for Providence. A bald red sphere that might have been a planet also hopelessly decorated the cloth.

 

“Yeah,” said Hecatia, then in rather more smiteful tones: “Why? Is there anything wrong with it?”

 

“Oh, no. In fact, I think it perfectly shows its wearer’s personality,” said Eiki. She was still smiling. “But don’t you think it’s a bit too casual?”

 

Now the Hell goddess looked apprehensive. “Is it? I mean, I didn’t want to give Junko the impression I was trying too hard or anything…” She folded her arms hurriedly as she remembered something. “Because it’s _not_ a date.”

 

“Of _course_ ,” said Eiki. She then stood and took Hecatia by the elbow. “Come. You mustn’t be late for your not date. Don’t worry about Clownpiece. My eyes shall never leave her.”

 

“Wha-? Eh? You still haven’t told me why you’re smiling,” sputtered Hecatia, allowing herself to be led.

 

“I just appreciate the honesty for a change. Truly. With the ability to look into their past and to know completely objective Rights and Wrongs and carrying a big stick, you’d be amazed how often souls think they can lie to me. Or maybe you wouldn’t.”

 

Hecatia was all but thrown out of the office.

 

“Have a good time, Your Holiness.”

 

“Yeah, master,” chimed Clownpiece. “Have a gay old time.”

 

“Uh. Sure thing. And no one says that any–”

 

The door was politely slammed shut, unsurprisingly still in shape from when Hecatia kicked it down. The Ministry learned millennia ago that if anyone needed a hyper-reinforced door, it the yama over Gensokyo.

 

“Thanks for–” Clownpiece began.

 

Eiki held up a hand, counted to thirty, and then opened the door. The hallway beyond was notably void of any and all divine presence. She leaned on the doorframe and sighed.

 

“Really now, Clownpiece, when are those two going to fuck already?”

 

“Hey, don’t look at me. It ain’t from lack of trying,” said Clownpiece, professional Lampad and hobbyist matchmaker.

 

“Nonetheless, do give my compliments to your master for making that sociopathic spirit a slow semblance of semi-shipshape. Junko’s barely committed any atrocities against life in the previous forty-eight hours.”

 

Clownpiece’s wings buzzed her over to Eiki. She nodded to the yama as one civil servant to another.

 

“Will do. And those fairies will be fine. Well, eventually. Almost fine.” She fluttered out. “Thanks for appeasing master. See you around.”

 

The fairy stopped. This was because her neck ruff got caught in a level-headed grasp that could, were placed upon flesh instead of frills, render the graspee’s head rather unlevel with the appropriate application of appropriate pressures.

 

“ _I think not_ ,” said Eiki. “Unfortunately for us both, I honor my promises, Lampad. You will not be gallivanting around Dis.” Not letting go in spite of Clownpiece’s thrashing, Eiki stepped out of her office, very responsibly locked the door and began to walk away. “Though I cannot imagine you would find much enjoyment in my office without setting fire to it. How lucky I know of someone else who isn’t doing their job today that is an endless wellspring of entertainment. Tell me, how do you feel about boat rides?”

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: http://clockworksampi.tumblr.com/
> 
> If you liked what you read, please consider commissioning me to write for you, it'll help me out a lot!: http://clockworksampi.tumblr.com/post/146010687102/sampis-commission-information
> 
> I noticed a dearth of stories involving Hecatia, one of my favorite Touhou characters. Well, they say be the change you want to see in the world.
> 
> Also: Archive Of Our Own, your tag is wrong. The character’s given name is Eiki, her family name is Shiki, her title is Yamaxanadu. Source: https://en.touhouwiki.net/wiki/Eiki_Shiki,_Yamaxanadu
> 
> Fun Fact: Because Hecatia is based on Hecate, I went for a more Greek version of Hell. The Pit of Apollyon is used instead of Abaddon, and all of the punishments Clownpiece messes up are actual tortures famous figures in Greek mythology suffered through in Tartarus. See if you can name them all! Make learning torture fun!!! Also: try and spot all the Divine Comedy and Paradise Lost references (and the one reference to Jesus Christ Superstar and Doom), IF YOU CAN!
> 
> On a more heuristic note, how do you feel about swearing? I am of the opinion that there is nothing innately humorous about a babbling brook of fuckwords. Even in my daily life, I rarely swear. It never seems necessary to do to get your point across. You can look at my track record; this is the only work I have posted that does not have three green squares next to it. That said, I know that a well-placed shit has the potential to become humorous with the appropriate amounts of contrast or ludicrous excess. I’ve laughed to James Rolfe and Brad Neely along with the best of them. Seeing that this work had Hell placed basically every other paragraph, I figured it might be worth exploring how to give humorous fucks, and Hecatia strikes me as a person who would swear in casual and professional conversation.
> 
> I want to ask, because I am legitimately seeking criticism regarding this, how did I handle the use of vulgarity in this work?


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